


Sorry Can't Raise The Dead

by lees



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7179173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lees/pseuds/lees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell at your feet. And the air heavy with despair. And you wonder if any decision you've ever made resulted in good for anybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry Can't Raise The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this helped me cope with sadness. Enjoy! (?)

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

Again and again, the word like a mantra, barely audible, and meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. What good were apologies, when the person you were whispering them to, was dead? Because of you. You, responsible for every death here, for the suffering of others, the pain of loss. Why, you ask, you plead, is this your life right now? Why must you fulfil such a task when the only outcome is the hurting of those you consider friends? Why must you turn everyone against you for the greater good, for something you doubt even exists? Why must you sit here, helpless, as you watch people you knew, people who lived, who loved, who fought, die in the futility of war?

You gaze into the sea of corpses, seeing them not as individuals, but as one, judging being. It consumes you, this being, fills you with a sense of dread, chilling your blood, breaking your resolve. This being, this creature of death, the result of your hasty, rushed, cowardly actions. And you want to say that you are fearless; that you created this being not willfully, but aware of the consequences. Yet, as this being stares you in the face, a constant remind of all you destroyed, your heart falters. You are not fearless. You are weak, so weak. You have given in to ultimate power.

You recall the words you once spoke, once, once when your troubles were only yours and your innocence still intact. How you admired those who could go against the flow, wishing that you were strong enough to do so yourself. Yet the coward in you would not permit such a thing: you are to succumb to a life of following orders without question, abandoning your humanity for an outcome you are not even sure you want to reach. At least, you think, you are not alone.

"Sorry."

The world is cruel. Humanity had brought itself to it's knees, kept prisoner by it's own violent ways. You try to convince yourself that the horror you have brought upon this selfish race was well deserved. They kill and slaughter without mercy, fighting amongst themselves for the thing that could drive people to do so much worse: power. You despise them all. Every last one of those sick creatures.

"Sorry."

It is not working. One of the faces grows greater in clarity, emerging from the pile of death, death, death beneath you. You know that face. You recognise those features. That person had a _voice_. A _mind_ , with _thoughts_ , with _feelings_. _Friends_. _Family_. You took that all away. Is this really all for the greater good, you ask yourself? Or are you just another player in this sick, twisted game?

"Sorry."

You stand, and the sea of bodies shift beneath you. From this high up, you can still make out people fighting in the distance. Fighting for yourself is one thing. Fighting for a cause you don't even understand is another thing entirely. You wonder if you should help them: it is clear that death is mere inches away. But, of course, you shoot down the idea before your thoughts conflict even more.

"Sorry."

The scent of blood and anger, of despair and purpose fills the air and you find yourself on your knees once more. You cannot bring yourself to stand in the presence of this _thing_ you can't even begin to describe. Tethered to grim reality by the harsh truth: you are responsible.

"Sorry. I'm..."

And you notice that nobody expects to win this war. That the only thing keeping them fighting is the mere thought of victory. Hope. Barely there, but hope. You can feel it. It scares you.

"Sorry."

They can hear you. You didn't think they could, but they can. Their corpses watch you with dead, soulless eyes, no expression but hatred. _Why did you let us die?_

You don't care. They deserve to die. But then again, you care so much it hurts. The air is heavy with loss. Yet you regret nothing.

"Sorry."

What do you want? Do you want to finally achieve the goal you'd been fighting for all your life?

"Sorry."

Or are you secretly hoping for everything to end? To be captured, judged, killed, and relieved of the burden placed upon you since forever?

"Sorry."

You don't know. And it doesn't matter. Even if you regret everything, you can't change anything. Maybe it's for the better. Being a coward isn't necessarily a bad thing. It just means your reluctant to stand up and fight back. Taking the easy option isn't bad. Taking the easy option is probably smart.

None of these corpses took the easy option.

"Annie."

And you look up. And you see him. And you hate him. Because he is just like you- selfish, weak, scared, scarred.

A follower.

A coward.

A warrior.

"Bertolt."

And you smile because he is here and you are not alone. Both of you share this burden, and both of you can not resist. And he kneels besides you, and gazes into the sea of corpses, into the being you are both responsible for. And he cries with you because he is not strong, and you let him without a word. Because you hate him and he hates you. And that is what you love about each other.

No hiding, no falsities, no sugar-coating the fact that you are both killers. The downfall of this dreaded hell, where humanity lies, trapped, within the grasp of the enemy and itself, is the fault of you and him. And you accept that. The truth is not so hard to grip when you are with him.

Screams in the distance, and you scream too. But it is more relieving than anything. You will die. You know that. But you will die with a purpose and a goal, die with a heart. Die with another monster.

"Annie,"

he says again and you listen. You should leave. If you stay any longer, a witness to this being, they will come for you. And you are not going to die just yet. Because you still have to fight. And whether it be for the right or wrong cause, _you are going to fight_. So you nod and you glance once more at the sea beneath you. Your footsteps as you leave by his side echo through the cold, dead air. You cling onto his warmth and allow a smile to cross your face. There is no humour in it. It is as dead as your heart. But at least you have a heart. He smiles with you.

The creature, the monster, the beast, the _being_

it wails at your departure.

 


End file.
